


Just A Letter

by Witete



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Grunkle Ford and Mabel Pines Bonding, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, i am a sucker for mabel ford bonding please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-12 21:28:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7949770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witete/pseuds/Witete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mabel rediscovers the note that Bipper left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Just decided to do a shitty little drabble.  
> Journal #3 spoilers.

She hadn’t meant to find it again; heck, she had meant to throw it out ages ago. But some force, whether it was the sheer horror of it or something completely different, had urged her to shove it under her bed; out of sight, out of mind. She wondered why she didn’t just tear it up or burn it the instant she found it- she supposed it was because it would play on her conscious otherwise- that maybe it held some sort of secret clue for later use. Or maybe she was going to tell him at some point, she didn’t know. What she did know, however, was that it was no more pleasant than the first time she read it. In fact, maybe it was even worse.

The day up until then had been good, wonderful actually. Grunkle Stan’s memories were almost at a hundred percent, thanks to her trusty scrapbook (and Grunkle Ford’s tapes she supposed as well). In fact, he and Dipper had gone on an outing together, probably to raise hell at the diner or vandalize Mayor Tylor’s manor. They left right after breakfast and hadn’t returned since, even after the sun started to dip below the tree line. She assumed her Grunkle Ford was in the living room or the kitchen, doing nerd things like reading or drawing or, possibly making a house made of candy. Yeah, she liked that idea a lot. She’d have to talk to him about that later.

But the fantasy had been long forgotten when she had decided to go upstairs and take a few large papers from underneath her bed, possibly to make a design for the house- that task had been forgotten too.  The newsprint papers had drawn not only dust from underneath the bed, but also a small, crumpled piece of paper. When she unfurled the scrap, she drew in a sharp breath the instant she noticed the large, messy, black script, written like a dark promise against the white.

That’s when it all went to hell.

She seemed to get tunnel vision as her eyes swept over the words again and again, like each time she went, she hoped the words would change or disappear or _something._ No such luck. Even after she hurled it away from it with a shriek like she was wielding fire, it just fluttered back to her like iron to a magnet. The script seemed to warp and move, slithering like black snakes across the page, hissing and spitting venom. It certainly felt like the words had bitten her, as ice drooled onto her spine, oozing through her limbs and organs, freezing them over. Paradoxically, her body boiled her blood red hot in her veins. Her head pounded and her mouth went dry. She wanted to call out or scream or something, but all she could manage was a strangled cry.  She went to cover her eyes, but the wetness that dampened her face derailed her. Also that and the fact that she didn’t want to take her eyes off the note.

It seemed silly and she wanted to slap herself for getting so overworked about it, but it was just so daunting and cold and _cruel._ She feared that, even if for just one moment, she took her eyes off the blasted thing, the triangle himself would return, cackling, and go off and do what the note promised. Somehow, no matter how illogical the thought, it would not stop itching behind her eyes.

_He’s dead he’s dead Stan sacrificed himself he’s gone._

The mantra played inside her skull, but it would never drown out the words that her eyes had been plastered to, and the thoughts would not stop.

She was jolted from her thoughts as a sound emitted from her left, forcefully tearing her eyes away from the note. The attic door was opened a hair, the concerned face of her uncle peering in. In a panicked flurry, she scrambled for the note, returning it to its crumpled state between her fists.

“Mabel, dear, are you okay?” Ford asked carefully, opening the door fully, but not stepping into the room, respecting her space. “I heard you yell.”

“M’fine,” she whispered, plastering a smile to her flushed face. Ford, however, didn’t appear very convinced. Mabel realized, glumly, that her face and body probably told a completely opposite story. She was tense, her small body quaking ever so slightly, her body fighting over whether she should feel boiling hot or freezing cold. Her hands were mashed together, the lack of blood in them leaving them white. She was crying and she had a very difficult time meeting Ford’s eyes; she resolved to stare at his feet instead.

“Mabel,” Ford said softly, kindly. “What’s the matter?”

She girl swallowed and shifted on her knees, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. She chewed on her lip and shook her head furiously, tears flying from her eyes. She broke into another sob, mashing her fists against her forehead.

The thoughts just wouldn’t _leave;_ the sight of her brother atop the water tower, leaning down with the wild, yellowish glint in his eyes; the sight of him _throwing himself off the structure,_ hurdling down to his demise.

The _sound_ wouldn’t leave her ears; the screams cutting off suddenly, with a sickening _crunch_ and _splat_ on the road below.

The implications of Dipper, her _twin,_ being left to wander the mindscape alone left her crying even harder, even as she felt the comforting weight of her great uncle’s hand on her shoulder.

_Want to join him, Shooting Star?_

His voice echoed and echoed across her eardrums, making her want to hide forever; somewhere safe where no matter how hard anyone looked, she would never be found.

She spiraled deeper into her mind as the thoughts repeated over and over and over, and she was left grasping in darkness. Something inside her mind was insidiously trying to convince her that it was real; it was real that Bill had made Dipper throw himself and _that’s_ actually why she hadn’t seen him all day.

She had fought in Weirdmageddon alone and Bill was just changing her bubble, altering it into the personal hell he had promised.

She had not beaten Bill that day and it had cost Mabel her brother. The world was ending outside of the bubble she had made for herself and she couldn’t _get out._

She shook like an earthquake, even as she felt a warm embrace envelop her. She felt someone weaving their fingers through her hair and she could feel their heartbeat humming through their chest.

_Ba-bum_

_Ba-bum_

_Ba-bum_

She released a shuddering sob and clutched tighter to the fabric that was encasing her, her hands grabbing onto that sound in the darkness.

The hands never stopped their movements. In fact, just above the heartbeat, she could hear soft sounds of comfort coming from what she now identified as Ford. She could feel his mouth moving as he hummed against her hair, swaying her in his gentle arms.

“It’s okay, dear. I’m here, it’s okay.”

She allowed the deep voice against her ears center her. She concentrated on every little sensation outside of her malicious thought bubble and each second that passed was better than the last. Eventually, she calmed down enough to where she pulled away from her uncle, still not looking him in the face. She wiped her nose again ruefully. “M’sorry.”

“Oh, Mabel,” Ford said gently, his tone quiet and tranquil. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

The girl didn’t answer. She just lowered her head even further and fiddled with the paper in her hands.

She sensed her kneeling uncle melt a little; whether it was with concern or fear she didn’t know. All she knew was that his voice carried a strange tone to it when he spoke again.

“What’s troubling you, dear?”

This time, Mabel met her uncle’s face. His features were drawn with apprehension and his eyes were dark and searching her face for some sort of tell. She fiddled with the paper even more under Ford’s scrutinizing gaze and shrugged her shoulders a little, dropping her gaze again.

It’s not like she didn’t _want_ to talk to someone about it; it was just she didn’t know how to _start._ Or, more importantly, she didn’t know _who_ to even start with.

She didn’t want to tell Dipper about it; he’d just freak out and slink back into being a nervous recluse and she hated seeing him like that. After all the good things that had happened this summer, she’d hate to take that away (even though Bill was doing a pretty good job of it, even without the letter).

She didn’t want to tell Grunkle Stan then because she wasn’t sure he’d believe her. Sure, he had confessed to knowing about the supernatural ever since the zombie incident, but Bill was always something that was so _farfetched_ it would always take a case of seeing to believe. And now that Grunkle Stan’s memories were finicky, she was even more repulsed in talking to him about it.

She didn’t even want to tell _Ford_ about it. She knew now that Ford had had the most experience dealing with Bill. If Bill was willing to do something like that to Dipper after possessing him _once,_ she couldn’t begin to imagine what Bill had done to Ford’s body- multiple times. She didn’t want to draw him into any nasty memories either.

Ford deflated even more at her reaction and guilt struck her in the gut.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself over this, Mabel,” he said, his voice slightly more stern than it was before. “I can get Stanley whenever he comes home, but-“

“No!” Mabel said suddenly, spooking her uncle a little bit at her outburst. She withdrew from him again and sniffed, heat blooming up her neck. “We just got him back,” she finished quietly.

Ford eyed her gently and then nodded slowly, understandingly.

“I-“Mabel muttered, dabbing her eyes with her wrist. “-I want to talk but I just- don’t…”

Then, she gave a resolute sigh (accompanied by the remnants of a sob) and forcefully shoved her hands at her uncle. She dropped the paper in his lap and shuffled away as if it may bite her. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes again as her uncle blinked at her and slowly began to unravel the crumpled sheet in his lap.

She watched as his eyes swept over the page, each second that passed making his eyes widen. When he lowered the page after a few harrowing seconds, he gave the young girl a look that was absolutely tortured and she looked away again, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

“I- I put an ent-entry about it in th-the journal,” she sniffled. “But I didn’t want to put the p-page in there yet. Maybe I wanted to burn it o-or- augh, I don’t know.”

“Yes, I, uh, read your entry,” Ford admitted after a few seconds, his voice barely above a mutter. He then peered at her tenderly. “Mabel, dear, this didn’t happen.”

“I know I know,” she said, mashing her fists against her face again, only to be deterred by her uncle who moved them away softly. “But I can’t stop _thinking_ about it; about what _could’ve_ happened. And it would’ve been all _my fault.”_

“There’s nothing wrong about asking ‘what ifs’, but you don’t need to torture yourself over them, Princess,” Ford reminded, drawing her back into his lap. She didn’t resist. “None of that would’ve been your fault.”

“But _it was._ I didn’t see the signs. If I had just _looked_ or _listened_ I would’ve found him out sooner.”

“You didn’t _know_ the signs. And you _did_ stop him.”

Mabel reeled back a little, looking at her uncle with pained eyes. “I should’ve been able to tell the difference between my _brother_ and some evil space nacho!”

“And you _did,”_ Ford urged, his hands cupping her cheeks gently. “That’s what Bill does best, dear: he tricks people. I’m so outrageously _proud_ of you for finding him out as soon as you did. It took me so much longer to accomplish the same task.”

Mabel sniffed again and tears started to well in her eyes. She took a shuddering breath and the words that left her released barely in a murmur. “He wanted to _kill_ him, Grunkle Ford.”

She felt all the air rush out of her uncle as the words rushed out of her, his arms embracing her again. She threw her arms around her uncle’s neck and buried her nose into his neck, her sobs beginning to strengthen again.

“I know it’s scary, dear, but I _promise_ that your brother is safe; we all are. Bill is dead and is never coming back. He can _never ever_ hurt you again, I promise, Princess.” Ford rocked her again, pressing his cheek into the side of her head.

Mabel didn’t say anything. She just let herself rock in her uncle’s arms as he swayed her from side to side, murmuring promises and comforts in her ears. She sobbed herself out until she was left with only hiccupping breaths.

She wasn’t sure how long they had stayed in each other’s arms, but by the time she pulled away from the hug, the sky was beginning to change from blue to a soft purple and pink. She had long since cried herself out, but the simple sound of Ford’s heart urged her to stay.

He smiled at her gently when she pulled away and he kissed her forehead. She giggled as she felt warmth bloom inside her chest, chasing away any remaining ice in her veins. He chuckled in response before his face shadowed slightly again.

“Are you okay now?”

She nodded, noticing the way his hand tightened around the ball of paper. “I am now.”

Ford gave her a smile that made her chest glow even more. “That’s good. I love you, okay? You are safe now, I promise.”

“I know, Grunkle Ford,” she giggled passively, though the words made her aching mind and throbbing thoughts finally dull to a small hum. It wasn’t completely gone yet, but they were not strong enough to control her again.

“But you know what would make it better?” she asked, waggling her eyebrows playfully, hoping her bubbly nature would tear the thoughts away completely.

Ford couldn’t help but chuckle, his eyes brightening at his niece. “What would that be?”

“A candy house!” she exclaimed, brandishing her arms extravagantly. Then she gasped. “No! A candy _pony!_ That would be so _awesome!_ Do those exist Grunkle Ford?”

“I’m afraid not, dear,” he beamed, despite Mabel’s show of playful disappointment. “But I’m sure there are enough ingredients in the kitchen to _make_ something akin to the request.”

Mabel’s eyes practically transformed into stars. “You know how to make candy?”

“Ah, I’m sure we can figure something out.” Ford responded with a wink, laughing as she jumped up out of his lap, pulling at his unoccupied hand.

“C’mon, what are we waiting for?” Mabel urged, scrambling to get her uncle onto his feet. Once he got to his feet, she was off (or at least as off as she could be with her uncle’s hand tight in her grasp) and clambered down the steps. Once they reached the bottom, she released his hand and flew into the kitchen, scrambling for bowls and sugar. She didn’t notice her uncle’s face harden slightly behind her. She also didn’t notice the way his face shadowed with guilt and anger.

She didn’t notice him shove the paper in his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> Request things for me to write in the comments.


End file.
